


the one with the shuttle

by jasondont (minigami)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Compliant, Huddling For Warmth, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Padawan Anakin Skywalker, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:13:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29758761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minigami/pseuds/jasondont
Summary: 22BBY. Commander Cody and Jedi Padawan Anakin Skywalker crash their shuttle.
Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 3
Kudos: 42
Collections: Bushels for Apples





	the one with the shuttle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheAceApples](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAceApples/gifts).



> i really hope you like this, apples!!!!!!!!!

“Sir.”

Skywalker looks perfectly miserable: the skin of his face is bone white and his lips are blue. Cody pushes the caf mug towards him. The Jedi blinks down at it; it takes him a beat to dig up his hand from under the blanket.

“Thank you, commander,” Skywalker says. He doesn’t look at Cody in the eye. He cradles the mug in his hands, the black and gold of his prosthetic clacking against the white plastic, and hunches his shoulders.

Cody stares at him for a beat and then blinks, looks around the cabin. There’s just one cot, and next to it there is a desk with a chair pushed under it. With a last glance toward Skywalker, he crosses the room, drags the chair from under the desk and drops on its seat. The plastic creaks and wobbles, apparently not designed to hold more than 120 kilograms of fully kitted out clone commander, and Cody scowls, annoyed. Skywalker snorts, and then twitches and scowls down at his datapad, his padawan braid swinging.

Cody doesn’t doesn’t take off his bucket—the room’s cold enough his HUD keeps warning him. For a while they just sit in silence, Cody in his desk chair, trying not to move too much, and Skywalker on the cot. The silence is—not exactly comfortable. It’s thick enough Cody can hear the creaking of the shuttle’s hull while it freezes and the howling winds outside.

Cody thinks about fishing out his own datapad—he’s got paperwork to get through. He doesn’t he catches himself glancing again and again at Skywalker, something that might be guilt eating at his gut.

Skywalker really looks miserable. He’s under his robe and one of the thin synthwool blankets GAR command seems to think are actually warm, and Cody can see him shiver. His mechno arm, gloveless for some reason, has a thin sheen of ice over it.

Cody can see the ETA for the rescue team on the upper left corner of his bucket’s HUD—he checks the comm in his left vambrace anyway. Three hours and twenty eight minutes to go. Cody glances back at Skywalker: he’s finished his caf. He’s frowning down at his prosthetic, scraping at the ice with one fingernail—Cody winces. That can’t be comfortable.

Cody has made it his business to get to know the Jedi he’s supposed to work with, and after almost six months of war he can say he knows them pretty well. He knows how they look when they’re tired, when they’re angry, when they’re frustrated and when they’re hurt. Cody’s learned that when Kenobi frowns down at him, his mouth flat and his eyes distant, he isn't actually irritated with Cody but with himself—Cody has also learned how it looks like when Skywalker’s trying to act as if he’s fine and nothing bothers him.

Maybe Cody should—well. Maybe he should apologize. It’s not his fault that they are stuck in the shuttle in the middle of nowhere under subzero temperatures But. Well.

It’s been six months. By now, Cody knows that while Skywalker may be a Jedi, he’s also—volatile. Temperamental. He has a short fuse and he’s disturbingly easy to rile up.

Cody didn’t provoke him, exactly, but—well. He didn’t _not_ provoke him either.

He just makes it so _easy_.

Cody looks at him. Skywalker’s shivering so hard he looks close to vibrating himself out of the bed. If he dies of hypothermia and Cody gets decommissioned for indirectly killing him, Rex will never forgive him.

He sighs. Maybe there’s a thermos somewhere. Or a heating unit. Or something. Skywalker’s supposed to be an engineering prodigy—he’d probably be able to fix it, if Cody can find it for him.

“Cod—commander. Where are you going?”

Cody pauses in front of the door and turns to look at Skywalker. The Jedi is looking at him over his datapad, his blue eyes brighter in his pale face. Cody scowls under his bucket—he doesn’t look well.

“There might be a heating unit somewhere. Or something,” Cody says. “There isn’t,” Skywalker says. “I looked.”

Skywalker has yet to look Cody in the eye. His eyes stare at the space that’s right next to his helmeted face.

Cody wants to tilt his head and _push_. He doesn’t.

(He knows he will—but later.)

“Maybe I should just look again,” Cody says. “Just in case.”

Skywalker shrugs. He turns back to his datapad. Cody doesn’t think he’s actually looking at it, though. His shoulders are hunched and tense.

“Whatever you want. Commander,” Skywalker says.

Cody rolls his eyes. He turns to face the door and pauses. Glances back at Skywalker. The Jedi ignores him, his eyes focused on his datapad.

Very well. Cody opens the door and leaves.

*

Cody doesn’t find a heating unit.

*

By the time Cody returns to the cabin, his armour is covered by a thin layer of ice, and his HUD’s sensors are yelling at him. Cody steps through the door and locks it at his back again as fast as he can. Skywalker peers at him from the bed. He’s given up on trying to read and is lying down on the cot, his back to the wall. He looks even paler than when Cody left.

“I didn’t find anything. Sir,” Cody says. Skywalker nods—he looks half-asleep.

Fierfek.

Cody crosses the room and kneels in front of the cot. He slips a gloved hand under Skywalker’s face—he can’t really feel him through the armorweave, but he doesn’t like how—rubbery and dry his skin feels.

“Hey, commander. Skywalker,” Cody says. “Look at me. Don’t fall asleep.”

Skywalker blinks at him. “I’m not asleep,” he says. “I have hypothermia.”

Cody snorts despite himself. It’s not that funny. Skywalker smiles at him, awkward.

“I’ll be fine,” he says. “Don’t worry, Cod-commander. I’m a Jedi. I won’t die.”

Cody scowls.

“That’s banthashit, sir,” he replies. “With all due respect.”

Skywalker scoffs. His eyes slip closed. “Respect,” he says. “Respect. You don’t respect anyone.”

“That’s a lie. Sir,” Cody swallows. He looks around himself—he needs to keep him warm. He needs—something.

The cabin is empty—the only blanket is already around Skywalker. Cody curses under his breath.

Skywalker scoffs again. He looks at peace—but his lips are blue, and there are ice crystals on his eyelashes. It makes him look—ethereal. Despite the scar and the fact that Cody knows he’s actually a two meter tall menace.

“You don’t respect me, Cody,” Skywalker whines. “You only do what Obi-Wan tells you.”

Cody carefully places Skywalker’s head on the pillow. He leaves his hand there, on his face, absently stroking over a cheekbone.

“He’s the general,” Cody says distractedly. “I have to.”

Skywalker doesn’t answer.

Cody curses and checks the ETA for the rescue team again—still too long, they won’t make it—and turns back to Skywalker.

Cody takes off his armour as fast as he can and leaves it on the chair. He grabs his blaster and his comm and then climbs on the cot behind Skywalker, trying to burrow under the blanket and the robe without disturbing them too much. Skywalker lets him—he’s barely conscious, and when Cody carefully slips an arm around his waist he sighs and leans back against his chest.

By then Cody’s shivering hard. It’s so cold—he doesn’t know how Skywalker was able to last as long as he did. Must have been some kind of Jedi banthashit, Cody thinks, and then hugs him tighter. He sticks his cold nose under Skywalker’s ridiculous haircut, and the Jedi shivers, mutters something.

He smells nice. Ozone and motor oil and the wool of his robes. Cody sighs, and Skywalker shivers again.

“Cody,” Skywalker says. Cody feels him trying to move away and sit up on the bed and holds him tighter. “Cody? Where’re you?”

His Outer Rim accent’s thicker when he’s tired; he also slips into Huttese when he’s tired or concentrating too hard on whatever he’s doing. Cody doesn’t mind—he’s learned to work around it. These are all things he knows because it’s been six months and Cody is a professional.

“I’m here, sir,” Cody says. He looks for Skywalker’s flesh hand and squeezes it.

His hand is bigger than Cody’s. He hadn’t noticed that.

Skywalker freezes. Cody feels him trying to turn on the bed, and he sighs. He allows it.

The Jedi stares at him, nonplussed. He’s so pale that the flush that’s trying to climb up his cheeks is even more obvious.

“Body heat,” Cody says. Skywalker scowls.

“I can see that,” he spits at Cody. He sounds—awkward. Humiliated. “You didn’t have to.”

Cody raises an eyebrow. Skywalker rolls his eyes at him. Neither of them moves.

Cody falls asleep looking at his face.

*

“Poodoo.”

Cody wakes up with a start. For a beat he doesn’t remember where he is: he only knows that he’s cold but comfortable, that there’s a body around him, and that he feels safe. He doesn’t want to open his eyes, and so he doesn’t: he presses his nose against warm skin and grunts.

There’s a thigh between his legs, strong and hard and warm.

“Cody. _Commander_.”

Skywalker.

Cody opens his eyes. He searches for his deecee, finds it under his pillow, and lets out a breath. He turns his attention to the Jedi.

Skywalker looks better. He’s still too pale, and he’s shivering, but he’s also aware and conscious. He’s also blushing furiously, his pale skin shining pink and blotchy.

Cody firmly believes that shame is a choice, but Skywalker won’t look him in the eye. He’s still holding Cody—he’s wrapped around him like an overly enthusiastic purrgil, and he’s heavy and almost warm. Cody can feel Skywalker’s mechanical hand rubbing carefully against the skin of the back of his neck, right under the collar of his blacks.

“You’re feeling better,” Cody says.

Skywalker shrugs. He’s slowly trying to slip his leg from between Cody’s, his mouth twisted and his eyes low. He looks uncomfortable.

Cody should let him move away. He presses down on Skywalker’s leg instead.

The Jedi freezes. Cody looks him in the eye, his heart beating wildly in his chest, and Skywalker stares back at him, wide-eyed and flushed. Cody prepares himself to be--pushed from the bed. To fly across the room and crash head-first against a wall. He’s watched Skywalker decimate droids and crush tanks and jump from gunships. He’s beautifully capable of brutality, of acts of effective and sudden violence. He’s _terrifying_.

He’s also trembling like a shiny, and Cody doesn’t think it’s because of the cold—and he’s not moving away.

Cody smiles.


End file.
